from Ing Ear
for Jalal Toufic

In the woods losing the name you would be called by or in the mirror presupposing no life of the name that would guide you 
through this night that must be left to other hands

To other hands heavy fire loss of boundaries and gaining gaining upon the image directly a beam a beam from the bulb of our 
guided hands

Guide of our hands the illusory plucked petals of this time resurrect me resurrect a name without boundaries and magic magic 
of those progressive reversals of springtime

Gaining the horse upon the sound of the gulls tape displaces all voices images of a voice out of synch the small atavisms of these 
ways

Presupposing Chernobyl Sarajevo Iraq Palestine Sudan Rwanda Hiroshima Auschwitz Armenia

Misinterpolations taken as amnesia
		The latest life of the dome
				Of the dome accruing to it the life of the countryside
						Of olives figs milk and tea
								Of the last taste of honey in a collective time 
										Stutter the passage of this recurrence
												Points on a shifting interval of travel
														Guide of our hands the illusory plucked petals 
																Every moment is initial of this springtime
																		A renewed assuming of names









For how long the guide the guide of our hands through the streets these bombs no longer touch the distance of our ways they must 
be a unity of form to have remained alive for so long

Bring me to my name again forgiving that I have been gone from myself a little monument of a larger unity I hope these bombs
won’t touch

His bleeding feet the animal when we arrive has called to me to bring it food a project of these calls across these desert walls their 
functions

A forum of gravity be a unity of form the animal among the traces of these walls what gazes is always of ourselves lately we have 
come to guide the guide

But let the aura be the means of our geography therefore our memory multiplicities declaring no light has yet arrived

But let the aura be a light in the world again after none could be called by their true names in truth the stones failed us so we kicked 
them down substituting for each petal a similar blindness of sense









It arrives to arrive the beloved not merely loved a bead of these ways in caravan to see a wall as a prism hope of new phases

She is walking away from me in that garden where the guards are guarded and don’t speak to demonstrate the violence of an image 
she walks away with a horse it turns three times slowed by the edit on a beach before the broken waves 

She walks away from me from me so I may see her name as a back turned an injunction to turn to guide the guide back 

Back to me if we could be a name for nothing for nothing presents this green of a name of petals what virtue in reverse reversing 
power a pride of fathers plucked kingdom within a kingdom inaugural 

Here to hear to hear this violence not seen seizes the silence of a violent naming Lear of a drama of power silent again after images in 
paradise the lines went spoken











																									To speak those lines those lines weep

	of which we are nothing 
				an argument
						demonstrates the waves

								of which we are 
										an unsaying
												of these horses waves ways
														drawn away after the storm

																no violence can accomplish this 
																		an unmaking of forces
																				in a painterly universe
																						the frames of nothing the 
																								titles record



those horses waves turning spray
		spray no books with no letters no pages
				pages became undeveloped
						no violence can accomplish this unsaying

								to hear those lines those lines wink 
										drawn away after this blank space
												perhaps no one truly listens anymore
														an argument in silence demonstrates the waves
																non-action of her point

																		non-action in a painterly universe points
																				a universe of the gaze the horse draws away
																						non-action in a painterly universe
																								a field for the high and forgotten
																										surviving the forgetting




of children surviving 
		the forgetting of these lines
				generation does / generation does not
						non-action in a painterly verse
								obverse of the gaze
										shade towards forgetting
												a field

														weep for the forgetting 
																forgetting of those lines that weep
																		generation unsays its lines
																				this horse breaks into 
																						its reverse 
																								so can the waves



waves silent violence
		heard for every new love 
				playful spraying a book 
						longing to be heard 
								and therefore seen
										seen and therefore 
												heard

														substitute these lines 
																these lines these 
																		petals for me

																				substitute these petals
																						these lines these 
																								petals
 																										these lines for me




In a blank time